Coloring Outside the Lines
by pennylayne
Summary: Gift fic for Frisky Wallabee, and also second in the A Very Thin Line series. Explains Oscar DeLancey's skeletons in the closet. Skitcar.


I walk from the courtyard to my room, despite the fact that I really should be going to drama, seeing as I haven't really gone since the damned production of _Bye Bye Birdie _started. I shake my head, smirking as I go over the events of the day. I shouldn't be as happy as I am, not with the conversation I just had, but I have to admit, it's just a little bit hilarious.

My friend Daniel... well, everybody calls him Specs but he really kind of hates it... anyway, he just spewed to me this whole story about how he was with his boyfriend, my other friend Dutchy, and how they're all in love or whatever, but broke up because Dutchy's a pansy.

See, Specs and Dutchy, they're pretty much meant for each other, but Dutchy's dad is a little on the right-wing, crazy side of the fence, and everybody knows this. So when my roommate and his brother (who _hate_ Dutchy, and I'm not sure why) walked in on those two making out backstage at _Bye Bye Birdie_, they decided to make Dutchy's life a living hell.

So Dutchy broke up with Specs to prove to his old man that he's no fairy or whatever, and now they're both miserable. And because they're miserable, everybody else is miserable.

Well, except for me. Because it's kind of funny. I mean, not that they're in emotional turmoil or whatever. It's funny because I know what's going on behind the scenes.

I stroll into my room, where my roommate is laying in bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, half-asleep – not a bad sight, if I do say so myself. I slam the door and watch him jump.

"Jesus, Skitts," he says gruffly, sitting up. "How come you always gotta do that?"

I roll my eyes and sit on my bed, across from his. "You're an asshole, Oscar."

"So I've been told." He rubs his hands over his pretty, Italian face, shaking his head to wake himself up. "You wanna tell me something new?"

I grab a balled-up T-shirt from the floor and throw it at him. "Specs told me what you did."

"Who the hell is Specs?"

Sighing, I roll my eyes. "Dutchy's boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now, thanks to you."

Oscar grumbles at the mention of Dutchy. "Visser. Fucking faggot had it coming."

I grind my teeth a little. I _hate_ when he uses that word. "Oscar, I don't care if Dutchy knocked over your pottery project in seventh grade." He starts to pipe up about it, but I shake my head. "_Seventh grade_, Oscar. Anyway, you had no right to do what you did."

"I got no right to do most of the things I do, but I do it all anyway," he says with a sly grin. "Besides, it's fun."

"Yeah, but you really went over the line with this one. You threw two peoples' lives completely out of whack."

He rolls his eyes and gives me that sly grin that always makes me melt a little. "Michaels, I don't know what you're gettin' so worked up about. Visser is a fudge-packing, cock-sucking little fairy queen."

I laugh a little. "And you're a hypocrite, my friend."

He throws the T-shirt back at me. "And what the hell are you trying to say?"

Smirking, I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. "What I'm trying to say is that you, too, are a fudge-packing, cock-sucking little fairy queen."

He sets his jaw and looks sexier than I ever thought he could. "Fuck you, Michaels, I'm not gay."

"You know, you keep saying that and every day, I believe it less and less."

Pouting a little, he shrugs. "I'm not! I'm not gay. I just like to... color outside the lines a little bit."

"Well, gee, Oscar, that's quite possibly the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." This is affection between Oscar and me. It's like foreplay for him. He's so weird. "I hope at least I make a halfway decent crayon."

Oscar grins at me and nods toward his mattress. "Yeah, whatever. Come here."

I grin back and stand up, sauntering over to his bed just to be an ass. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pulls me down, which causes me to hit my head on the bottom of the bunk above his, but Oscar doesn't really care. He never does, but the funny thing is, I don't care that he doesn't care.

He presses his lips roughly to my own and gets right down to the business of undoing my belt.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I lay back on Oscar's bed, naked and panting. I watch him as he stands up, pulls on a fresh pair of boxers, and lays back down. Rolling his eyes, he lays on his side and looks at me.

"I hate it when you look at me like that."

I grin. "That's why I do it. I live to make you uncomfortable."

He punches me lightly in the chest. What a rewarding system. You get a guy off and you get chested. I let out a little whoosh of air and we both laugh.

Oscar sighs and relaxes next to me, still looking at me. I take in his examination of me for a little while and then am finally frustrated. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, averting his eyes and going about the business of adjusting his pillow.

"You're lookin' at me funny."

He smiles and shrugs, nestling his head into the pillow and looking completely adorable. After a few moments, he closes his eyes and prepares to further his late-afternoon nap. "You do make a good crayon."


End file.
